


One Step Behind

by Valmouth



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Back to Earth, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Fear, Friendship, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Canon, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmouth/pseuds/Valmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with being alive was that life went on. And it wasn’t just some guy’s name that Rodney murmured in his sleep, not a drunken kiss or mysterious meetings in a locked room, but it was a guy. Real and human. Solid. Glasses and dark hair and Keller didn’t seem to care, was standing there saying she didn’t.</p>
<p>And John cared.</p>
<p>Because this was not how the story ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own no rights to this show, or to the creative universe it is derived from. I mean no offence by posting this and make no money from it.

He’d been a little worried for a minute there, watching Rodney kissing Carson.

Not like he cared. Not really. Just wondered.

Wouldn’t have affected the way they worked. Hell, no. Whatever Rodney wanted to do in his private time was none of John’s business and the _less_ he knew about it the more comfortable he felt.

So Rodney looking embarrassed and resigned and completely displeased had been... reassuring.

But it wasn’t the first time.

John wasn’t keeping score. Wasn’t like he was watching. He didn’t mean to notice Rodney and Lieutenant Miller. And anyway, it wasn’t like it meant anything. Wasn’t like he didn’t understand.

They’d watched Grodin die. They’d seen the whole weapons platform explode, and fear and failure has always done strange things to people. He knew that. Had felt it, being airlifted out of a desert, dehydrated and sick of his own ineptitude.

So he said nothing when he saw the life signs on his monitor, stopped in the middle of the corridor so close to the scientists’ labs. Two dots on a screen. Just two names in a room. Pretty damn close in a room, he thought. He stowed his LSD and led his recon team away from the area. There was enough to do after the siege.

Didn’t want to interrupt the conversation. Never let himself remember that Rodney told him he was going to his quarters for a couple hours sleep.

“Caffeine headache,” Rodney said, not looking at him.

It wasn’t a caffeine headache in the tent, the second time. He wasn’t sure what it was.

It was only because he couldn’t sleep. Often couldn’t, when the ground was hard and he was on alert. When something felt off and there was only one person outside, keeping watch. Never mind if it was Teyla or Ronon or some soldier with commendations as long as his arm; he did not like being taken unawares.

So he was awake and Rodney rolled over. Not into John; away from him. Rolled over and muttered and breathed out long and slow and with this little sigh on the end.

And he said some guy’s name.

Could be anything, John thought. Could be some guy he borrowed a pencil off in High School.

It was one name. It didn’t mean anything. Rodney was asleep and John didn’t ask- would never ask- and they had enough trouble getting on without getting into deep and meaningful conversations.

So no, it was not the first time. And John was a little worried when Rodney kissed Carson.

Felt better when it was clearly Cadman making the move, not Rodney, and Carson seemed as embarrassed as Rodney was.

Nothing to worry about, John told himself. And anyway, it didn’t matter. Wouldn’t matter. Even if it was.

Rodney backed him on more than one occasion and John liked to think that he wouldn’t care if Rodney was checking his ass out at the same time. They’re friends. Allies. Buddies.

And he had Rodney’s back. Even for those times he didn’t think about.

The last time a drunken score on some planet somewhere. Some guy in a dress, gown, robe, whatever; golden hair down to his shoulders and mouth all pink and wet from too much wine. Hell, John wouldn’t have said no. If he’d been as drunk as Rodney. If he’d been smiled at like that, all catlike promise, all desire.

He might have kissed back. Might have leaned in and lifted a hand, touched the man’s chin and neck and slid his fingers into his hair.

And he’d have expected Rodney to break it up if he did. Maybe not like he did, all silent menace until he’d separated them. Then just sarcasm. No, Rodney talked. So John talked. Anchored Rodney’s hazy blue eyes on him.

“Come on, Rodney. We’re done here.”

“What? Why? I was enjoying that!”

“Trust me, you’re not gonna say that in the morning.”

The guy, watching him in his turn. No smile, now. Just disappointment.

John didn’t look back. Didn’t have the time, or the energy to spare. Rodney was protesting. Loudly. Flailing. John had to tighten his grip on Rodney’s bicep to keep him on the straight and narrow.

And he did that. Kept him straight. Not just... _that_. Doranda; Harmony- all those little lies and self-delusions. All that arrogance. All that odd low self-esteem.

“Which bed might that be?” he’d asked once, and Rodney had just looked so confused.

Hadn’t thought about it before then.

But that, that John could do. He could be that guy who had guy conversations about girls, so long as Rodney didn’t want advice. Didn’t ask him for ‘how to’ tips. Because that was what John didn’t have, apart from one failed marriage and a slew of worse relationships.

“You don’t listen... you don’t talk... you don’t try... you don’t love... you don’t even _like_...”

He did. He did like. Had liked Chaya and Teer and could have loved them. Had loved his ex-wife. Had loved plenty of them. Still wanted them all, in their own ways, on some level.

But it was about need. And when it came down to it, he didn’t _need_ them. He needed the Air Force- to fly, to be somewhere else.

He didn’t need the excitement. The fighting. The death. He didn’t always need to save the day.

He had his days and nights, just like anybody else. When bits of his soul chipped and splintered and he thought he was probably losing small chunks of his sanity but when all was said and done, what else was he going to do? Walk away? Say no?

And on those days and nights he was alone and cold and hard, but more than once he went running, or stood on a balcony somewhere, and more than once he heard the clumping of Rodney’s footsteps behind him. The sibilance of a door opening. Never needed to be more than just the presence of someone else coming up on him.

Not on the days and nights when he was raw and angry.

And Rodney was... Rodney. Sometimes John wanted to kill him. Sometimes John wanted to ignore him. Sometimes John just listened. Tried not to snap. Didn’t talk, but then Rodney didn’t expect him to.

Sometimes Rodney didn’t talk either.

Sometimes they just stood there, or Rodney picked up a gun and joined him at the range, or John pulled him roughly into the centre of the training room and showed him another defensive block. Enjoyed Rodney’s yelps as blows landed, softer than John would be with anyone else, just smart enough to sting.

It made him laugh.

And Rodney glowered at him and tried, worked harder, and he was not actually terrible. Just not a soldier. Not a fighter. Was still patently a coward who ran away from the fights except sometimes.

John was aware that Rodney had faced Wraith for him, had jumped into virtual realities and philosophical debates for him and never left him behind. Had, in fact, spent one of his futures trying to get to John. Stood his ground for John. No matter what.

And in the face of which, John didn’t care what Rodney did in his private time. Such as they had. Didn’t care if Rodney looked at other guys and dreamed of other guys and kissed other guys.

But he felt better when Rodney was with Keller. Or Katie the Botanist or that woman on PLX132, the woman with the red hair who said ‘yes’ and made Rodney splutter because he hadn’t been expecting that.

Made John laugh, watching from his seat at the bar, boots propped up on the table, listening with half an ear as Teyla deftly prised information out of the drunks littered around them.

He hadn’t laughed when Allina betrayed them. Rodney’s face. He’d been the one to push.

“Whose bed?” he’d asked.

And Rodney hadn’t even thought about it until then, had been so utterly surprised that a pretty woman could find him attractive when he wasn’t being stubborn and persistent. Surprised that she hadn’t just looked through him.

In hindsight John thought he shouldn’t have interfered. But they hadn’t known, and Rodney had been lonely.

He didn’t look for these things but it was true enough. Count it with Katie and the almost-engagement that didn’t happen and John winced in sympathy just thinking about it.

No luck with women.

Both of them, maybe, and he got that. The fact that it never seemed to work, and after a while a guy was bound to wonder if it was him, if he was the reason.

And yeah, okay, Rodney was not an easy person but he wasn’t a _bad_ person, and John had Rodney’s back. Didn’t try to interfere any more. Instead he watched. Watched Keller, watched her face and how she was around Rodney. Watched Ronon around Keller.

And he wasn’t playing favourites. He couldn’t. Both of them deserved her and God knew he hoped she deserved them, but he didn’t know. None of them and it wasn’t his business. He didn’t care. Until he saw Rodney with Keller while Ronon walked away.

And he knew.

He was happy for Rodney. It was better this way. Keller was a good person. Strong, smart, pretty. She had blond hair and breasts, both prerequisites for a McKay Grand Passion and he waited for Rodney to be an ass around her and Rodney was, a little, but not much of one and John worried then too.

He watched and Rodney caught him a couple times. Looked puzzled and then defensive and then tired. Turned his back on John and pretended he hadn’t seen it.

John couldn’t read that. Didn’t know what he thought of it, what he felt about it. Though there was nothing to feel, really.

He didn’t actually care. Except that he did. But in the same way that he cared for Ronon or Teyla or Carson. The same way he cared that his team was safe. Were happy. Were at peace.

He stood on the balcony staring at the Golden Gate Bridge and he clearly heard Rodney say, “I’m alive and I’ve got you.”

It was perfect. Rodney was dazzled by blond hair and breasts and it was enough, John thought, that she was a good woman. They were good together.  

He thought this because they were on Earth and it seemed like it was all over. It was the end. They’d made it. And they were alive.

But the problem with being alive was that life went on. And it was no longer just three times, now. It wasn’t just some guy’s name that Rodney murmured in his sleep, not a drunken kiss or mysterious meetings in a locked room, but it was a guy. Real and human. Solid. Glasses and dark hair and Keller didn’t seem to care, was standing there saying she didn’t.

And John cared.

Because this was not how the story ended. This was not how it went.

“John?”

Rodney watching him, that expression like Rodney was waiting for explosions, maybe was waiting to be hurt, and John had never thought Rodney would look at him like that about something that wasn’t Chaya or Doranda. Like Rodney actually thought that John wouldn’t have his back.

But this time, this time John wasn’t sure. It was out there. Right there. In the open.

A guy, not touching Rodney and not talking to John, not presuming, but hell, it was like there were chains already binding them. John could almost see them, like there was something mussed about Rodney’s hair and clothes, like the guy had had his hands all over Rodney.

“Oh,” Rodney said, and the sideways bob of his head was precise and poisonous and John had seen it before, it wasn’t new, but it had never been so disgusted, so furious. “I suppose I should have seen this coming.”

And Keller said, “John?”

Worried, like John needed to be treated with kid gloves. Like John was fragile. Like this whole thing was fragile.

John just shrugged, said, “It’s none of my business. It’s your life, McKay.”

He didn’t know what else to say but the look on Rodney’s face was fury. Rage.

But Rodney’d never lashed out at him. Never been physical. Always talked.

And John saw it suddenly, in a wash of shock and surprise, all those times he’d never said anything and Rodney still came to him. Rodney clattering down the corridor, calling his name.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said.

He didn’t talk, and this wasn’t something he could talk about.

Keller stormed into his office on Atlantis a day later, and she told him plainly that he was a bastard and should be shot.

“Forgive me for not jumping up and down in excitement,” John said sarcastically, “It was a little out of left field.”

“Everybody else knew,” she ground out.

“I didn’t.”

It was really that simple.

He hadn’t known. He hadn’t asked and Rodney hadn’t told, and Keller was the one who told him that it wasn’t like Rodney hadn’t liked her. Wasn’t like Rodney hadn’t wanted her.

“We did sleep together,” she said baldly, and John was not entirely sure what question he’d asked for that response, but he shrugged and accepted it at face value.

Who was he to say she was lying.

He took a walk that night, out to his usual haunts, and he ended up on the balcony they’d all stood on what was only a few months ago. And he stared at the haze in the sky, thinking of all the stars he couldn’t see. The stars they used to see in Pegasus. And that time when the Wraith laid siege, explosions like stars against the shield.

He thought of that, and Rodney didn’t come to find him.

He didn’t honestly expect Rodney to, and didn’t seek him out in his turn.

They ended up in a meeting together a couple of times after that. Neither of them tried, and Woolsey was gone so no one cared except for Carson, but Carson was easy to brush off. Easy to ignore. John ignored him and his people knew better than to read him any lectures. Not in the military.

John dry-swallowed aspirin for the persistent headache that never seemed to go away and he reported to Washington for his command review.

He was sent back to Atlantis. And it was like coming home, shrugging out of his dress uniform jacket and already unbuttoning his shirt when there was a chime at his door.

He opened it as a matter of course and it was finally Rodney. Standing there, hands behind his back. Looking John up and down.

John didn’t shiver. Didn’t shift. Didn’t react. And then softened.

“Hey,” he said, “What’s up?”

Rodney said, “I’m leaving. Next week. They’ve asked me to work on the Destiny problem.”

John’s fingers flexed on the collar of the jacket he was still clutching.

“Wouldn’t want you to say I didn’t tell you this time,” Rodney said, and walked away.

John shut his door and he undressed and hung his dress uniform carefully in the little alcove place that served as a closet. Didn’t think. There was nothing to think about. What Rodney chose to do was Rodney’s choice.

He read until his eyes were tired and he couldn’t remember a word, but the pages had moved so it was enough. Then he ran. Then he showered. Then he stared at the ceiling and shut his eyes and slept.

He woke tired but that was nothing new.

The night after Rodney left, he went to San Francisco and he got himself halfway to drunk before he went to a gay bar. He thought of the dogtags he’d left in his hotel room and his fingers curled and clenched as he stared around, too pissed or too tired to care that he was being obvious. Possibly rude. Possibly looked stupid, he thought.

The place was full of young men and they all seemed to be in groups, all smiles and laughter. All of them looked like they knew what they were doing there.

And there was a strange sense of vertigo.

Because he didn’t care. He went to the bar and he ordered a beer with shots and it didn’t matter to him that the two guys to his left were flirting, loud enough for him to hear. Openly. Like they’d got every right.

And he supposed they did have that right. He had no opinion on the matter. He didn’t know them. Didn’t know if they meant it or if it was just a weekend game, something to do to get into someone’s pants for a little satisfaction.

Amused himself by wondered how many of them would pick up a gun and confront a Wraith for any of the guys they were fluttering their eyelashes at.

Rodney never fluttered his eyelashes. But he’d picked up a gun, and he’d confronted Wraiths and virtual reality and John’s own inability to communication. John’s own sense of failure and fear. John’s cowardice.

It was nothing new.

He drank his beer and his bourbon and ordered another. And he kept going until he felt the world swish back to sepia, until he felt sick and his eyes could barely stay open. There was no one to catch him if he fell, so he slurred a plea to the bartender to call him a cab and left a handful of notes on the bar, incapable of distinguishing a large tip from too much cash altogether.

He fell asleep in the car and woke up when the cab driver shouted at him to pay up and get out, they were there, and he was violently ill when he stepped out. But that was okay, he decided, better out than in. Better out there in the street than trying drunkenly to strip his bed or clean the carpet or whatever.

He slept for what felt like days.

He woke to his head pounding and his mouth dry, and his clothes smelt of spilt beer and whiskey, and there was a phone number scrawled on his arm. He could barely remember the kid who’d tried to pick him up when he was on the peak of his drunken high.

He scrubbed it off without a second thought.

He did the same thing on the following night. The morning after that he went back to Atlantis.

And on Atlantis he was sober and sane and didn’t let anyone believe that small pieces of his soul were chipping and splintering. That he was raw and angry and holding himself back from the urge to lash out.

The following weekend he did the same.

Ronon and Teyla came back after that. They were no longer in quarantine at Cheyenne Mountain, no longer required to meet SGC official after SGC official. Their accounts of the histories and cultures of the Pegasus Galaxy had been collected and what they hadn’t yet given the anthropologists could, Woolsey assured the officials, be recorded on Atlantis.

They made no secret of what they knew.

“Rodney’s friend is a very nice man,” Teyla said gently.

Ronon grunted. “McKay was weird around him.”

John wanted to find it amusing. Wanted the awkward conversation of ascertaining exactly how much Ronon knew about what ‘friend’ meant and what Ronon thought about it. Wanted this to be like anything else. Like laughing about Rodney’s childhood stories.

But he smiled, said, “How is he?” because they expected him to, and when they said, “Fine,” he left it there.

He left everything where it was.

And he didn’t go to San Francisco for two weekends, but when he did, he didn’t wait until he was drunk before he found himself a gay bar.

He remembered to leave his dogtags behind but he supposed it wasn’t really hard to realise who he was, what he was, when he started at a loud bang behind him, and he was halfway out of his seat and whirling around, half-crouched and hand going to the thigh holster that wasn’t there.

No one noticed, or if they did, he didn’t see them.

He got back into his seat and his hands shook, strangely enough, until someone tried to pick him up. Then his breathing evened out as he turned his head to look up at the tall, middle-aged man, dark-skinned and bald and John thought he could try. It was an option he’d never considered before.

Except that it was two weeks to the official repeal and he refused to go down for this. It wasn’t worth it.

All he was doing was drinking. All he’d done was watch. All he’d done was not think.

Not about Rodney. Not about how much he wanted to go back. Wanted to pause, and hear Rodney’s footsteps stomping along behind him. Wanted to race cars and see Rodney look smug and then arrogant and he wanted to drop him down a peg or two and know that no matter what else happened, Rodney would still hold his ground for him.

Didn’t want to think about the fact that it’d been six years to hell and back and now a member of his team was working at another base, on another problem, and Rodney was probably fooling around with someone who wasn’t keeping him on the straight and narrow.

And that made John laugh. For the first time in days- out loud and at nothing that anyone else could see. He was drunk enough to get nothing but an eye roll but he was not too drunk to stumble off his stool and weave towards the door.

He intended to go back to his hotel but he found himself going into another bar, and he met a woman there who was warm and alive and possibly as drunk as he was. She had nice legs and a nice neck and a nice mouth, and she had breasts and blonde hair and said yes.

So he slept with her.

He pretended not to notice her wedding ring in the morning. And honestly he didn’t care. It was none of his business whether she was going home to her husband with his saliva still on the inside of her thighs.

He went back to Atlantis and Ronon cornered him in the training room. Didn’t say a word, just threw him the sticks they fought with.

Weeks since John had practised and he didn’t realise he’d put on weight until he spent a good half an hour bouncing on his toes.

Ronon didn’t go easy. He whipped a shot across the back of John’s calf and landed a sharp crack across John’s shoulder and then his fist caught John’s chin and John was on his back, staring at the ceiling and seeing stars.

He blinked the pain-damp from the corners of his eyes.

Ronon hovered into view above him.

“Get up,” Ronon said.

“Why?” John asked seriously, “So you can knock me down again?”

The corners of Ronon’s mouth curved upwards.

Which meant that it was safe for John to get cautiously to his feet, groaning as he did.

“You’re getting soft,” Ronon observed, and didn’t help him.

John thought of those times when Rodney had come to him in the bad times and willingly let John take shots at him. At best, because he was brave enough not to care if John was being an ass.

Not a coward, John thought. Not if it was worth getting hurt for. Killed for. Worth giving up his team for.

John felt the chill as that thought sliced through him.

Rodney _gave up Atlantis_ \- and everything that it meant- because he wanted... needed? John didn’t know.

He knew moments. A whisper in the dark, a drunken kiss, an out-of-control feeling. Didn’t mean anything when there was Katie and Keller, and yeah, even that girl who betrayed them. Betrayed Rodney more than anyone else. But Rodney, sane and safe and back on Earth, left them and went to some guy that John didn’t know. Couldn’t trust.

He favoured his stiff shoulder and wondered if that was the thing. Trust.

From the SGC, Rodney said, but John was not from the SGC. Knew barely anyone, really. Three weeks with his clearance he left for another galaxy, and never came back long enough to know anyone beyond the Mountain.

Rodney was his life line for that. They’d joked about it.

And John didn’t have Rodney’s back, not with this.

It didn’t, he realised, work the other way around. Rodney hadn’t _needed_ to protect John from _this_.

He was a mess for four days. Alternating between an intense headache that wouldn’t stop and the desire to leave. Just leave. Go away. Forget everything and pretend that the last six years hadn’t happened.

“John,” Teyla asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, and she didn’t believe him. He didn’t expect her to. But there was a reprieve. Some space. Something. She didn’t ask again.

Teyla never had; didn’t then. Just watched his back and left him alone. She’d never asked about Lyle Holland. Never asked about John. His culture, his people, his world, yeah, but not _him_ , and John was grateful. So pathetically grateful.

And then he heard.

Rodney and Young. Working on the Destiny problem. Going undercover and stealing someone else’s ‘gate and John felt something in him crack as the details leaked back via Lorne and Caldwell and a dozen people who knew people who knew people. Almost arrested. Captured.

Woolsey dropped by Atlantis.

It wasn’t about McKay. It wasn’t even about the Destiny. John had nothing to do with that problem; had enough of his own with Atlantis.

“We need to move the City,” he’d said, right at the start, and they’d moved his best scientist to another problem altogether.

Woolsey didn’t want to talk about that. Just mentioned a sticky IOA situation. Gave John the bare bones of the diplomatic nightmare.

Not that John wanted to know; not that he cared.

And he wasn’t sure what it was. The fact that his head ached or the fact that he didn’t care. The fact that maybe he’d never really liked Woolsey and he was growing to realise he’d never really liked Earth. He’d never wanted to end up here, like this, stranded in some floating City off the coast of San Francisco, watching his team being pulled apart by all the things that mattered when they weren’t making do in a whole other galaxy.

When they’d made the best of a bad situation.

John sat there and felt the spike of pain every time he moved his neck and it was starting to unhinge him, just a little, that Woolsey kept talking. Didn’t seem to understand. Didn’t seem to notice that John had stopped answering four minutes ago and really wasn’t following the conversation. Was just watching Woolsey’s mouth move and thinking of all the ways he could get up and walk away, if only he could get his legs to move. If only he could screw up his courage and just get on with it.

Almost captured. Without Teyla or Ronon or John to watch his back.

He thought about that, imagined it in all the times that had happened before. Times he’d almost died, and Rodney had almost died, and the whole thing sounded so unutterably stupid.

“Telford’s plan,” Lorne had said, and John had no idea who the hell Telford was.

Because he didn’t know the other names in the SGC. Didn’t know the big names. Didn’t know the stories.

And there had been a story in the curl of Lorne’s lips, in the tone of his voice.

“Colonel Sheppard?” Woolsey’s voice had started to echo a little.

And if John squinted just slightly, the man’s face looked absolutely amusing. Totally hilarious.

“John?”

Rodney, clattering down a corridor at midnight. “I’m losing myself” and “say goodbye” and never asking for anything more than just words. Everything and nothing. Clumping up behind him.

“I need to go,” John said, and his own voice was very far away.

He went.

Wasn’t sure where he went, but he ended up in his room, spread out on his bed like a starfish and staring at the ceiling.

“I’m leaving” and “goodbye”.

Destiny. Stupid name for a stupid ship and even more stupid mission. The ultimate force of the universe. John didn’t care about the universe; he cared about surviving. And he didn’t care about the people on the Destiny; not as people. As human beings, yeah, he wanted them off. Didn’t care if the ship imploded or exploded or kept going and came back.

He had enough to do with Atlantis.

There had been talk, too, way back when, of using the Atlantis Stargate to double the ‘gate teams going out. Get some more backup out there in the Milky Way. Cover more ground.

But SGA-1 was effectively disbanded. John had no plans to revive it. Had no plans to get another scientist. Had no plans at all. Just keep ship, stay afloat. Survive.

Teyla found him quickly enough. She didn’t even break in. Just put her hand on his brow and her fingers were cool enough to wake him up.

“I think you should see Dr. Beckett,” she said.

He said no, and rolled over, and went back to sleep.

He woke up in the infirmary. With Ronon sitting next to him and a nurse hovering across the darkened room.

He woke up and they gave him painkillers for his head and a shrink to talk to and they said all sorts of things about PTSD- which he denied- and culture shock- which he laughed at- and he got a visit from General O’Neill, who looked very uncomfortable at the prospect of standing in Atlantis and giving pep talks.

“Just don’t go gaga on me,” O’Neill said, “I don’t have the manpower.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.

And it was easier to leave it there. He’d been expecting to have to leave. So far, no one had asked him to.

The worst was Rodney. Who called. Who said nothing. Who sounded stilted and worried and didn’t put his foot in his mouth even once. Not even for John.

Ronon dragged John into a training room and handed him a set of sticks. Went up against him bare handed. Which didn’t matter, because John still ended up on his ass against Ronon.

 So things got better. Very slowly. The headaches went away; people stopped tiptoeing around him; Carson stopped hounding him through the corridors. And maybe it was the pills- which John never took- and maybe it was the shrink- who used sports news as therapy- or maybe it was Ronon beating the stress out of him.

John didn’t know.

All he knew was that something in him had cracked and been papered over. Seemed to be the best way to describe it.

And Rodney was talking to him. Still being careful. Still being weird.

They didn’t say much, and John thought about when they’d all been kicked out of Atlantis three years ago, and they’d had to come back to Earth because there was nowhere else to go. And he remembered the way Rodney used to call. Said he was lonely, and wanted to talk.

Even if John hadn’t always wanted to listen. Had hit ‘end’ more times than he liked to remember now.

Thing was, Rodney got the bits of John that Teyla didn’t, and Ronon didn’t, and it felt more complete with Rodney there, being smug and self-important and being ridiculously needy, someone they could roll their eyes at and be mutually resigned to.

He wasn’t that any more, and maybe, John thought, maybe he had been selfish. Maybe he hadn’t thought. Maybe he’d turned into the man his father had warned him he would become. Blinkered. Compartmentalised.

Wasn’t like he’d been all that good at communication anyway.

“It’s not something you’re born with,” Ronon said, “It’s about being honest.”

“I’m always honest,” John protested.

“I meant honest with yourself,” Ronon said flatly.

And John sort of bristled. Because he was honest with himself. But there were some things he hadn’t been allowed to consider. Some things it had been better not to know. Not because it would have mattered. He wouldn’t have cared.

Not that there was anything wrong with caring.

“Name ten things you care about,” his shrink challenged.

“Well, I care about not dying,” John said warily.

His shrink looked both tired and unsurprised.

He cared about his team. His people. His planet. His City. He cared about his brother, even if he didn’t want to spend time with him. He cared about his ex-wife. He cared about doing the right thing. He cared about flying.

He went back to San Francisco and he went to a gay bar and he didn’t make it a point to just get drunk. He still left his dogtags behind in his hotel room, but when some kid tried to chat him up, he didn’t shut him down.

Listened, mostly. And it was okay. Didn’t make him want to sleep with the kid. Didn’t make him want to lash out either. Didn’t make him want to walk away.

He went back to Atlantis with a thought growing in the back of his brain.

Teyla was away, but she came back on his watch and he was glad to see her.

Glad to get her alone for a moment and say, “How’s Rodney?”

And Teyla, who had never asked but had learned to notice, said, “He is fine,” with a tiny little smirk that was almost evil in its understanding.

“Yeah,” John said, and licked his lips, “I mean really. I mean, with the work and his... boyfriend? Does he call him that?”

“You mean Paolo?” she asked calmly, “I believe he calls him by his name.”

Paolo. Same name as when Rodney had finally just spit it out and said it. Pointed almost rudely back at the guy. Brown eyes crinkling behind glasses as the guy had grinned, actually grinned, at being introduced that way.

John swallowed.

“He seems a good man, John,” Teyla said quietly, “And Rodney seems happy.” She pursed her lips. “But then Rodney has always chosen to say more to you than to anyone.”

John went hot and cold, wondering if she knew. If she had guessed. And if so, exactly what. But she was already turning away and talking about Colonel Carter and Woolsey and Teal’c, who had also been at the meetings.

He waited for four days before he went off-shore. And then he picked up the phone. And he called Rodney.

There wasn’t much to say.

“You should have told me,” John said.

“Would you have cared?” Rodney asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m glad I didn’t tell you. Given the number of times we managed to save the day by working together.”

“Not that way, Rodney,” John said, and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I just...”

“What, John? You’re suddenly thinking of all the times you took your shirt off or bent over or I touched you or...”

“McKay!” John barked.

“No,” Rodney snapped, “You don’t get to just shut this conversation down because you don’t want to talk about it. To stay friends, yes, maybe I should have said something right at the start. Not that it would have mattered. It wouldn’t make me any different and it wouldn’t make you any different. For the Expedition, Colonel, no- I’m glad I didn’t say anything. Because you are clearly an insufferable, homophobic, discriminatory person and I’m glad I found it out now. When it’s important. When I can move on and not have to put up with all the petty little digs I’m sure you and your marines have got planned for me.”

“My... Rodney, don’t drag the marines into this. And what do you mean- little digs? What little digs?”

“The only thing I’m going to say is that I’m glad I don’t have to be there, that’s all.”

John stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. All the courage he’d screwed up seemed to drain right out of him. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Don’t sound so understanding. It’s your fault!”

“What do you want me to say? I said I was sorry.”

“Well, it’s not enough. I mean, you shot me.”

“You’re bringing that up now?”

“I don’t just forgive people who shoot me, Colonel!”

“Stop,” John stopped himself and lowered his voice, “Calling me Colonel.”

“I always call you Colonel.”

“Well, it’s very annoying when I’m arguing with you.”

There was silence on the other end.

John scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “You just caught me by surprise, Rodney. I handled it badly. I thought you were serious about Jennifer.”

“I was,” came the swift rejoiner, “But then I met... And if Jennifer could take it without killing me I don’t know why you had to make such a fuss.”

“Paolo,” John said, and he hadn’t intended the name to sound so awkward on his tongue, “How is he?”

“Why do you want to know? Oh God, you’re not going to beat him up to punish me, are you?”

“What the hell?”

“Well, how do I know? One minute you’re a perfectly reasonable human being and the next minute you act like some-some homophobic grunt.”

“I did not act like a homophobic grunt, Rodney, I was in shock.”

“But it wasn’t your business to be in shock!” Rodney yelled, as if he’d finally lost his temper and snapped, “It was your business to say ‘congratulations’ and ‘I’m happy for you’ and ‘nice to meet you’ but you walked away. How the hell am I supposed to take that? And you wouldn’t talk to me after that.”

“I don’t...”

“Don’t what? Don’t talk? Oh, you talk. You talk to Teyla and you talk to Ronon and now I hear you talk to a shrink, but you don’t talk to me. You just like to keep me around to amuse you and distract you with shiny tech and funny blathering and it’s fine. You know. I can do that. For a friend. But when things like this happen, John, you pay back. That’s how it works.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t!”

“No,” John agreed.

“So why are you calling me now?”

John shrugged a shoulder. “I wanted to talk,” he said simply.

And there was silence again.

A different kind of silence this time.

He could hear Rodney, breathing hard at the end other of the phone. He could imagine it, Rodney red-faced with emotion and mouth a little slack with confusion, thinking the conversation through. Trying to add it up to make a total and see what that gave him.

“Why should I let you?” Rodney asked.

“Because we’re friends.”

John winced, waited, and got- “That is soppiest thing you’ve ever said to me, Colonel. It’s incredibly disturbing.”

It made him laugh.

And it didn’t mean that everything was over. Rodney could hold a grudge. John could get impatient. They insulted each other, and had the same fight again, and John hung up on Rodney once but it worked.

It was something.

And maybe Rodney liked dark hair and dicks as much as blond hair and breasts but hey, could be worse, John thought.

It wasn’t enough for Rodney to tell him Paolo was gone.

John almost called Rodney right away. Both to yell and to commiserate- though mostly to yell- except the only calls allowed from Atlantis were emergencies. It wasn’t enough of an emergency to call Colorado Springs from the City. Definitely wasn’t enough to get beamed from the City into the Mountain.

Not to shake Rodney by the shoulders and hear his teeth rattle.

John thought about it, and didn’t do it. Didn’t even mention it. Not to anyone. Didn’t know why Rodney hadn’t said but it wasn’t up to him.

So he waited, and he said nothing, and when he could get away with it, he wrangled an invitation to Cheyenne Mountain. He found Rodney hunched over a simulation, looking half-asleep and serious and with his hair ruffled up on end.

Rodney didn’t look up. The other scientists looked confused.

John wandered over and peered over Rodney’s shoulder.

Déjà vu and memories and it must have been all it took. Rodney went rigid. Turned around slowly, eyes wide.

John just grinned. “Heya, Rodney. How’ve you been?”

Rodney pointed at him, pointed at the door, looked around, and dropped his hand. “Colonel. What are you doing here?”

“Came to say hi.”

“Well. Yes. Well. It’s very nice to see you but some of us have work to do so, if you don’t mind, the door is that way.”

“Come on, Rodney. Just take a break for five minutes.”

“Important work,” Rodney stressed.

“Five minutes,” John repeated.

Rodney glared at him suspiciously, and then shrugged. “Fine. I need more coffee.”

It wasn’t what John had thought. If he’d thought about it. Wasn’t what he’d imagined, which was different.

“I’m checking out some new gadget they want to install in Atlantis,” he said.

“Good for you.”

“How’s the Destiny thing going?”

“They’re not back yet. How do you think it’s going?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Paolo?”

“I did tell you. Isn’t that what started this whole situation?”

“I mean,” John sighed, “That he left.”

Rodney’s mouth opened and snapped shut. And he looked surprised. Confused. And then sad. Just sad. “He didn’t leave, it was mutual. It wasn’t working. Who told you?”

“Doesn’t matter. You should have said.”

“Would you care?”

“Sure. We’re friends. If you want to talk about it, I could...”

“No,” Rodney said, very definitely, “Not to you.”

John winced. “Right. Maybe Telya?”

“I’m not telling Teyla about my sex life,” Rodney frowned, “That’s just embarrassing. And before you say it, I am definitely not telling Ronon. I don’t need to talk about it. It just happened.”

“You need to talk to someone,” John said.

“So I don’t end up like you?” Rodney snapped.

John didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Felt embarrassed and hot and angry. Swallowed against it and said nothing. Refused to say anything.

“Sorry,” Rodney said grudgingly.

John shrugged.

“I mean, we all adjust in different ways,” Rodney continued.

John wriggled his tongue in his mouth, just to remind himself he could use it. He could say something. Could say anything. If he wanted to.

But he didn’t need to.

McKay could talk like breathing. All words, all the time. Unless he was thinking. Then the words were in his head and he was probably just talking to himself. Calling himself names for not getting it sooner. Calling other people idiots for interrupting him.

“Okay, look, I’m only going to say this once,” Rodney said.

And John turned his head enough to slant a look at him. Show he was listening. Show he cared.

“I was attracted to you,” Rodney said, “On Atlantis. I tried not to be, but it was a little hard because you were just there. There wasn’t much of a choice.”

John frowned. “Well, that’s a real compliment.”

“What do you want me to say? You look like you do. You shoot things. You like math and sarcasm and you saved my life a few times. You didn’t seem to care if I hung around.” Rodney shook his head. “Which isn’t the point because I don’t mean that in a creepy way. Look, it was just a stupid crush but I am so over that. We’re just friends. I want us to be friends. Maybe. If you think it’s a good idea.”

“You know I don’t really, um, like guys, right?” John said, “Not that I care if you do, but it’s an adjustment. Like you said.”

“Weren’t you listening? I am not trying to hit on you! I didn’t even try back on Atlantis and I could have!”

Rodney was going to start stuttering, John thought distantly, and so he made an effort. And didn’t look at him.

“It’s okay with _me_ ,” John said, “I wasn’t the one who got pissy and left.”

“Pissy...” Rodney’s words failed him.

John smirked. Just quick enough to let Rodney see. Know it was a joke. All good fun. Nothing more to say- move on, get back to where they were. Forget it was ever different.

“I wasn’t the one who turned into a giant jerk!” Rodney exclaimed.

But John had already continued walking back down the corridor, for all the world like Rodney berating him the entire way was perfectly normal. Which it was. Should always have been.

This, he thought, was how it ended. Properly.


End file.
